


A prince's story

by Minimiz



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Escape, Fantasy, Long Shot, Longing, Love Stories, Love Triangles, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Parent/Child Incest, Princes & Princesses, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, To Be Continued, To Be Edited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7002343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minimiz/pseuds/Minimiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about a prince, kept safe in the thick stone walls of his palace. But discovering a way out of its everyday's routine, he finds himself lost in a world Sol knew until now only from the small frame his window would offer and the countless books, he was given in his shelterng prison.<br/>He will learn that barely anything is the way he had been taught and told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A prince's duty

„Your bath is prepared, young man.“ Sol was lying sweat bathed in his sleep rustled sheets and pillows, a mess of red hair spread all over him. Nightmares had visited him again. The ever repeating nightmare of the dark figure bowing over him in the darkest of the day. Where their scrawny crawl touched him, his white skin turned green and blue. He never could move, just felt that weird tension inside of himself. Then warmth. Then it was over. The sun was standing high.  
If it wasn’t for those eyes wide open, it might be him still asleep, so subtle and hesitant was the reaction to him being called by his attendant. Almost as if the prince wasn’t quite in might of his own limbs. Maybe he wasn’t .   
The sea of red hair shifted, as he did, slowly lifting himself up from the bed. He was naked, a cocoon of blankets being wrapped around him all. Despite the fact that the only one to see him bare was the man, who knew him ever since he was a young boy, who watched him grow and bathed him every other day. Sol covered himself.  
“Young man, the water will be cold.” It won’t be, it was the usual list of phrases and sentences his attendant went down throughout the day. Almost the same every day, at the exact same time, apart from maybe a “No, young man.” Here and there. But Sol wasn’t feeling like rebelling against any strings today. He let his body be guided into the water, skin cleaned of the remains of the night and dressed in the softest silk. Not just one single layer but silk upon silk.  
A prince couldn’t just do what he wants, there were certain rules to go by, old traditions that couldn’t just be ignored or left or behind. Sol knew that.   
His way of dressing was the only part of his life that was left halfway under his control and he stretched it to the maximum. Undergarments in white and crème alone already more than the average citizen would wear in the summer heat of Tarken. The shirt that went on top was laced up to his slender neck, similar to the harem pants he wore and as if that wasn’t enough, Sol slid into a wide gown, that almost touched the floor by his feet.  
Comfortable like that the boy wandered off to where he spent most of the day, the little library in his room.  
It was the same every day, Sol awakened from an uneasy sleep. Fed and bathed, he spent the day, like any other day, in his room, reading, learning and at times practicing himself in arts.  
Then he nightmares would come, pressing him into the sheets of his splendid bedding, forcing the air out of his lungs. Thoughts wrapped so wildly around his head, that he just couldn’t escape. Waking up, impossible.  
Then the next day would come. Sol knew not to run away, it was his duty as prince to be well and follow the rules and traditions of his family. To listen to his father, the king.


	2. Forgotten Paths

“I love you, Sol” – “I love you too, father.”   
Sol was sitting on the floor, his face buried against his father’s lap and underneath strands of hair that had escaped his previously neatly tied braid. It was a mess. Just like his clothes that all seemed like they wouldn’t quite sit anymore. A white small shoulder exposed here, loose threads swinging in the soft breeze where they should keep his shirt together there. There even was a small hint of a hipbone where his undergarments had slipped away.   
Sol was too tired to care. He was once again sweat bathed and still trying to recover from when his breathe was cut off and his heart felt like it would need to jump out of his chest.   
Bad dreams had visited him again.  
But luckily his father was there. In a place full of people where no one was allowed to talk to him – that’s what the traditions said – there at least was his father.   
Always when the nightmare was over, his father would sit with him and tell him stories of countries so far away and so strange, Sol could hardly imagine them to be real. But they must be.  
The young prince was so very thankful for that distraction, for the outlook onto a world that was banned from him, that any roughness of the night was forgotten again. He was so very thankful.   
The time of a king was limited, Sol knew that and so he didn’t complain once story time was over and he was being left alone again.  
But now he could at least bury himself into his own stories. Underneath those dozens of books that decorated half of his room, there still must be something he didn’t know inside out yet.  
Whoops. There was some staggering as the young man pushed himself up to stand. His legs seemed to have a different idea, still weak trembling they just wouldn’t get under his control and dared to give in at any moment.   
The small make-up stand had to offer him support but just like his legs, it dared to give in, pushed aside under some complaints of scratching and creaking. At least the cushion padded little chair didn’t leave him alone, offered him a place to rest.   
Suddenly seeing himself, with the mirror in front, Sol felt horrible. The way he looked all messy and dirty. The mixture of sweat, tears and other substances had irritated his perfectly pale skin, like a dark layer. Luckily that could be fixed with a wetted piece of cloth and the fabrics that were supposed to hide slender body where easily nudged back into place as well. Hair combed and braided, the young prince looked as beautiful as ever.   
He always had kept it long, it was like an extra layer shielding him on top of all the silk and lace.   
As soon as everything was back at where it was supposed to be the young prince grew bored of watching himself in the framed mirror, something else caught his attention.  
In that weakened moment in which furniture had to offer the prince support where his legs couldn’t, he had pushed the make-up stand away. Not far, but far enough to expose a damage at the wall, in a room where otherwise anything else was set up perfectly. One wouldn’t even find a dried flower, or a scratch on the exclusively built furniture. Yet there behind the small table, Sol could sneak a peek onto the naked stone wall that was supposed to be covered by delicate wallpaper.   
Curiosity had him push further and the stone appeared to be damaged itself, cracks and pieces missing, till eventually an entire dark whole was exposed. It wasn’t big, maybe about the size of the young man if he squatted down. The make-up stand just big enough to hide, as if it would have been picked for just that purpose.   
Stuck in his all day, every day, Sol had a hard time fighting his curiosity. He knew that this was just for his well-being, his health, he was being protected and he accepted it no matter how much it restricted him in his life. A life that didn’t exist outside of those walls but Sol was aware that it had to be that way and never really fought against it. As a young boy there might have been a question here and there, the wish to see the garden, the town but the older got, the further he accepted his life the way it was.   
Yet there was a huge difference between begging and discussing and getting something that might lead to an adventure, even if it might not lead him outside, presented like that on a silver plate.   
Right now wasn’t the time for it though.

It was when the sun had completely drowned behind the horizon, that Sol knew no one would come to see him anymore. Maybe there still was a guard in front of his doors but he has never seen more of them than an arm, a bit of their back and was sure they wouldn’t enter as long as he more or less quiet. He could do that. The vanity pushed aside again, there was it again. The dark space, nestled between bare stone walls.   
It could lead anywhere, maybe nowhere, stopping after a few meters, maybe he would reach a maid’s room or he might plunge into the depths, into his death.  
It was rare but Sol voluntarily shed himself off his cocoon of fabric, the silk pieces being way too precious to him to risk having it torn on stones. The prince’s undergarments were still covering half of his legs and upper body and since he wasn’t planning on letting anyone see him in first place anyway, he was fine with it.  
Bundled down onto the floor, Sol made the first daring step – if it could be considered such, he was crawling – head first he disappeared in his wall. What he saw was nothing, plain darkness prevented him from a fast progress and he had to move carefully, not knowing what was expecting him, when he might run into a sharp stone.   
It didn’t happen. All edges where smoothed. Someone must have put a lot of effort into building this. Slowly it got broader and broader, with a light shining around the corner and suddenly he stood there. Sol found himself in a carefully built tunnel, torches lightening the stones, just in cases anyone might ever need it. The prince knew that place, back from when he was still able to maneuver freely around the palace. It was an escape route, if any hostile would ever manage to fight their way into the place. As far as Sol knew it lead from the main hall down to the stables, yet there was that tunnel leading here from his room, he never had knowledge of, he just couldn’t explain to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story in making. So far only the introduction but there already is a plot that needs to be written down so expect more.  
> Critique is very welcome!


End file.
